Dead, but breathing
by cherriomax
Summary: Nico has been driven to his edge, and not in the way you'd think. Not in the visible push or an unkind word, but in the absence of something dear. There must not be a flame inside him. He has no warmth. He is cool to the touch, a seemingly unmovable stone. But alas, He's been dead for awhile...


Dead, but breathing

**Hey everybody! This is my first fan-fiction! I would be overjoyed if you would take the time out of your understandably busy lives to review, so I know someone saw it! XD Rating would also be very nice of you, and highly appreciated! I apologize in advance for the angsty angst and the... sadness, but it had to be done... Or that's just what popped up more so. **

**Disclaimer: these amazing characters can only be accredited to the incredible Rick Riordan.**

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He felt his heart's thrashing and pulsing throughout his frail body; a sad reminder that he still lived. Feet aching, he tore across the sick and blistered landscape of hell. But it wasn't Hell. Hell paled in comparison. He knew Hell, and this wasn't it. Here was where the worst of the worst went. Beneath his feet was the blood and dirt on which monsters roamed. This place could and would kill him. But isn't that why he had come? This was the place he had fled to, he had chosen it. The calls and shrieks of his pursuers were terrifying. More than enough to keep his feet to their irregular rhythm. But he didn't know why he ran. Why try to escape? Did he still fear death? But he couldn't, wouldn't stop. He ran faster than he imagined he could. He thought that was what he wanted, death. But did he? He was alone, forgotten. No one noticed him, no one cared about him. He had nothing. Never could have anything. Isn't that why he had come? To end the wanting. He could feel the moist breath of the beasts at his heels and with each step his feet grew sluggish and unwilling to continue. He urged himself forward, but for what?

* * *

This was how he would go, and he knew only too well what to expect later. But he couldn't go on any longer... He couldn't return from this. With each step he gradually slowed, and with it a calm came over him. He had to turn. To have a final stand because he wasn't ready to die. It didn't matter how he was received, he still had a flame inside him. Perhaps, running on old fuel, but burning all the same. His whole being itched to fight back, to cut down these voices, these monsters. This was what he had really come to do. He needed to be free of this oppression, this wanting.

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In one fluid motion he turned, holding his Stygian iron sword out I front of him in an almost instinctual stance. He clamped his eyes shut and shuddered as the gust of foul powder coated him. He thought of what he had to live for, that single flame if hope. A goofy grin, a smear of oil across a proud and smiling face. He didn't think he could be loved, but to keep himself from loving? It was suddenly silent. He could feel the breaths of each beast vibrating into his core. The calm was everywhere. In and around him.

* * *

Then the voices began. Surrounding him, beckoning to him. Whispering lies into his ears. Reveling in his doom. But were they lies? They spoke of what he didn't have, what he longed for, but would never allow himself to accept. The flame, was it truly there? His last drive to live seemed foolish now. They taunted of the love he would loose, and the days he would miss. Would he ever have had them if he had in fact continued? But how can you miss what you've never had? He might tell you.

* * *

But then he thought no more of life or death. He thought no more as the monsters tore at him. He had never felt something so purely itself. He had never felt such pure a pain, and it took him a second to realize that. That was why it felt so foreign to him. It enveloped him. His emotions were flimsy tainted with doubt and reserve. This stood in stone. He would've taken anything else to this. With each tear of his skin he fought. With each blood curdling howl he slashed his sword. He was covered in layer upon layer of dust as he fought. Slashing and hacking at his attackers. But he was in the midst of a frenzy. A frenzy of wanting. Wanting his death. How could any want of his compare? He felt foolish, stupid. This hadn't been what he wanted after all. Maybe no one would miss him, but he couldn't believe what he'd done. Given up. It was such a selfish ending to a selfish life. He wasn't the first one to question life, and he wouldn't be the last. He had left that other dwindling flame to wander alone. How could he?

* * *

He swung his sword to intercept the next wolf-like attacker with a renewed vigor. But his blade grazed off the shoulder of the beast. Not enough. The beast leapt upon him wrestling the others for the kill. It's fluorescent amber eyes flickering. And it's jaws glistening into a crooked smile. He couldn't help but remember another pair of eyes... Dark brown warm eyes. Eyes that would never know him.

* * *

He didn't feel it when the wolf snapped it's jaws closed around his neck. He didn't hear the reverberating snap. He couldn't smell the blood or the gore as his body was torn in two. He had been dead for awhile now. He just lay there. Alive, but alone. Dead, but breathing.

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** Once again, a review would be thoroughly enjoyed. Especially if you have found anything that was confusing or generally could be approved on! Don't be shy! Yeah you! Yes, I do mean the one with the brown hair and blue eyes I'm looking right at you! On another note, please tell me if you'd like me to continue this. Because I may have an idea or two. /:D **


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